


Maiden Lane Christmas

by fiftysevenacademics (rapiddescent)



Category: Richard II - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Party, Christmas Shopping, M/M, Modern Retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2705336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapiddescent/pseuds/fiftysevenacademics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard follows a stranger Christmas shopping on Union Square in San Francisco, and discovers an unpleasant truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maiden Lane Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This story responds to the Tumblr Shakespeare Advent Event Day 2 prompt: Christmas Shopping. It is set in the world of Silicon Dick, which is my RSC!Richard II modern AU set in San Francisco and Silicon Valley.

"Mr. Plantagenet! It's a pleasure to see you again. It's been a while."

The sales assistant beams at Richard and nearly catches her pointy heel in a crack on the floor in her haste to reach him.

"Yes, I'm afraid Isabella's tastes run more toward Blumarine than Marc Jacobs lately. But she saw some boots she liked in a magazine the other day and I thought I'd add them to her pile under the Christmas tree."

"The suede, over-the-knee boots?" 

"Those would be the ones. Do you have any in stock? She's a size 8."

They move to a display of shoes, and he waits, staring absently out the window while she goes into the back. A familiar, dark-haired figure, bareheaded and wearing a black wool coat, walks past the window, up Maiden Lane toward Stockton St.

"Odd," Richard thinks. "Is that who I think it is?"

The sales assistant returns with the boots and Richard pulls out $1,500.00 from his wallet.

"Here. Keep the change as thanks for your help. I'm kind of in a hurry, so if you could just box these up and get me out the door as soon as possible, I'd appreciate it."

With remarkable efficiency, she pops the boots into their box, slips it into a bag, and Richard peels out the door, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of the dark stranger as he looks up and down Stockton St. He spots what he thinks is the man looking at the Christmas display in Macy's window, and hurries to catch up. By the time he gets to Post St., the man has begun to move toward Powell. Richard has to jostle the crowd to keep him in sight, but people tend to move away from his imposing demeanor, and his tall build helps him see over enough people to keep his quarry in sight. As the gap between them narrows, he becomes certain that the small, muscular body and strong chin belong to Edward. He thinks, briefly, of calling out, but decides he's more curious to know who he is shopping for on Union Square, and continues his stealthy pursuit.

They turn up Powell St., the boot box banging against his thigh as they pass the St. Francis Hotel. A cable car, bells clanging and groaning with passengers, comes between them, but Richard sees the heel of his shoe and the hem of his coat flap as he enters Saks Fifth Avenue. He runs, saying, not very politely, "Excuse me!" and "Move!" to tourists blocking the sidewalk taking photos of the giant Christmas tree in the square.

He catches sight of Edward again, headed toward the jewelry department. He pulls his hat lower and his scarf higher over his face as a disguise, and lags behind, pretending to look at several displays along the way, until he can observe from a safe distance, without detection.

The clerk behind the counter smiles, nods, as if saying, "Yes, of course, I'll get it for you right now, sir." She returns with a box that Edward opens, but from his vantage point, Richard can't see what it is, and he can't hear their conversation. He moves closer, fingering pashmina shawls and silk scarves as though intensely interested in them and moving closer to the jewelry counter, while stealing furtive glances, until he stands almost back to back with him, absorbed in the detail of whatever is in the display behind Edward. Richard isn't even sure what he's looking at, because all his attention is focused on Edward's conversation.

"Why don't you read the inscription to make sure it's what you wanted before you pay for it," the sales assistant says, handing him a gold watch.

"To my beloved Bushy," Edward reads.

Richard's heart stops and a cold knife slices his veins. He spins around.

"Your beloved who?!"

"Richard! What are you doing here?" Edward looks as if he's about to faint.  
****************  
Bagot's parties are always a challenge for Edward, yet he attends them dutifully. The hair, the beards, the bulky glasses and lack of reliable transportation prevalent among the guests disappoint him and make him feel like a foreigner, or an anthropologist observing a strange tribe. The music is always some local indie band, or a DJ spinning remixes of music he doesn't even recognize in the first place.

He's sitting on a cushion on the floor beneath the Christmas lights in Bagot's South of Market loft, nursing a beer and checking his phone every so often to see if he's been there long enough that it's OK to leave, when Bushy plops down next to him. He's really drunk, and looks a mess.

"Oh, Edward, you're so lucky," he sighs, laying his head on Edward's shoulder.

Edward's back stiffens, but Bushy melts against him, and he can't resist the compulsion to put an arm around his back to both comfort and support him.

"I am?"

"Yes. Richard loves you."

"He's never told me that he loves me."

"But you know that he does. We all do."

Edward doesn't know what to say, and remains silent. He hasn't wanted to think about what Bushy, Bagot and Green might be saying about his relationship with Richard, and certainly doesn't want to learn right now. He has never spoken to anyone of his feelings for Richard, and never considered how obvious they must be to others. What surprises him is how obvious Richard's feelings are to Bushy.

Bushy takes a long sip from his glass-- it's just champagne, but apparently he's had a lot of it-- and burps before continuing.

"I'm from Sacramento, and my family are really religious," he says, slurring the "s" just a little. "I knew I was gay when I was only 9, but when my dad finally caught me kissing my best friend, David, in my room at 14, they kicked me out because I refused to change. I moved to live with an aunt in Los Angeles, and was eventually excommunicated from our church. My parents haven't spoken to me since then."

His body is pliant against Edward's, his head, slack upon his shoulder, and Edward sees a tear forming in the corner of his eye. Simple etiquette demands he let this story play out now, but basic humanity calls for him to keep his arm around Bushy's shoulder, and hold him closer.

"I was an intern for White Hart when I went to Berkeley, and they hired me as soon as I graduated." 

Edward blanches at the words. He can fill in the rest, and desperately wants Bushy to stop talking. His degree is from Stanford, and his family has never disowned him, but that doesn't change the implications. Bushy is silent for a few moments, but just as Edward is about to disentangle himself with some platitude about perseverance and success, Bushy squishes against him, and continues.

"Richard saved me. I was at such a low point, and thought I would never amount to anything. Richard gave me a place and a reason. I would do anything for him, but I know that all he wants from me are blowjobs and flattery."

Edward really wants to get away now, but can't politely extricate himself.

"If that's the best I can get, it's what I'm prepared to accept. He doesn't even give me my own Christmas presents-- I get the same as Green and Bagot. But you, Edward, he loves you."

And then, mercifully, Bushy passes out. Edward sets him gently down against the cushions, mopping up the spilled champagne with his scarf. He has a lot to think about as he waits for the cab.  
**********************  
Richard's voice falters as he reads the rest of the inscription.

"From your devoted friend, Richard."

He hands the watch back to Edward and looks at his feet.

"I was going to put it in his stocking," Edward says, anger evident over the soft tenor of his voice.

Richard looks away, as if to avoid the sight of someone he has known for years, yet does not know at all.


End file.
